Underlining Emotions
by LollyDrag0n
Summary: Dean is back from purgatory and clearly not taking it very well. He and Sam are in the midst of a demon hunt when they realize something a bit more angelic is going on. When Castiel returns, he and Dean have to fight with some very confronting emotions and destroy the baddie, not to mention perhaps benefit from their mutual realization.


UNDERLINING EMOTIONS:

BY: LOLLYDRAGON 13-3-2015

Dean pressed his body against Castiel's and threw him jarringly into the motel's flimsy excuse of a wall. However the sheer force of hitting the plaster would have been enough to rattle even the strongest of men, all it did to the Angel was infuriate him further.

"This is what you want isn't it, _Castiel_?" said Dean, his tone aggressive and harsh. It was the sort of tone you would use when trying to spite someone – to physically _hurt _them.

Castiel stared back at him, fury emitting from his eyes as his spine grazed uncomfortably into the rough wall – pinned there like a huge, trench-coated poster.

Dean's fingers burrowed deep into Cas's neck and he dug his thumb into the side of his jawbone, making it almost impossible for Castiel to breathe or talk.

However, even under his commanding grasp, Castiel could have easily bulleted him off his body and through the next couple of successive motel rooms with just a shove of his hand.

But he didn't. How could he?

A throw like that would send Dean to a hospital bed for longer than he cared to think about. He wouldn't – he _couldn't _hurt Dean.

Instead, he stood there, glaring deep into the green _pureness_ of his eyes. And he hated it, he _loathed_ it, because he knew what was behind them and it made him want to be sick.

Dean cackled as he stared back, almost reading his thoughts through just the twitches in Castiel's eyes.

"What's the matter?" mocked Dean, driving his thumb deeper and deeper into his neck. "You don't like the feel of Dean Winchester strangling you?" He pushed his palm upwards, lifting Castiel several inches off the floor.

He grunted but otherwise made no other indication of pain.

"_You don't like the feel of Dean Winchester strangling you..?_"

A rhetorical question, Cas assumed. He was only just starting to get used to those. Rhetorical questions and metaphors, that was the last lesson Sam had taught him, in one of the rare, spare moments the three of them got in-between hunts.

Although, Cas never really understood the concept. Why would one compare the agreeable forming of a relationship to a home being set alight? The thought was simply ridiculous and made no sense whatsoever in Castiel's Angelic mind.

After all, relationships came down to a simply science created by his father all those years ago: general interest, combined with mutual respect, vague fascination, shared interests and mild titillation… There was no _'house on fire'_ in the equation.

The pain of Dean's fingers crushing into his throat sent Castiel spiraling back to reality.

"Why don't you just _take_ it?" hissed Dean, leaning his hard, toned chest flat onto Castiel's, whose brow was furrowed in anger while his fists hung pointlessly beside him, the tips of his fingers digging mercilessly into the palms of his hands until he was sure blood would start to break the skin.

"No," he said, gruff and monotone as ever.

The rage inside him was enough to send frightened chills up the spines of any man, no matter how tough and firm and muscly they were.

The fury, the rage, the abhorrence and disgust burnt inside his vessel like a bomb exploding in a vault. It sent a heated wave up the entirety of his body and even sizzled the edges of his grace a little.

"I'm sorry, Dean," he said, glaring down with equal rage and regret.

He lifted one of his fists and drove it harshly into the pit of Dean's stomach, launching him violently to the other side of the room.

25 HOURSE PRIOR:

"Okay, so get this," Sam wondered into the room, one hand taking a sip of coffee while the other balanced a thin, silver laptop. "Bodies have been popping up all over town. All victims are completely random – nothing in common and not connected in any way."

"And..?" said Dean, momentarily looking up from one of his more enjoyable tasks – polishing and cleaning his knife collection.

"- And," continued Sam, bobbing his head slightly, "witnesses say they saw a woman with flickering black eyes and the smell of sulfur was present at each crime scene."

Dean slowly caressed the body of a thick, ridged machete, cleaning all the left over blood and faint vampire remains with a damp cloth. "Demon possession," he said, matter-of-factly.

"Plus police said they saw a thick black smoke leaving through vents in a number of the crime scenes."

Dean huffily got up to pour himself a small – no medium – no… Aw, what the hell – he grabbed the whole bottle and downed a few swigs of sweet, sweet, cheap whisky, leaving a burning sensation in the back of his throat while his favorite knife lay comfortably on the questionably clean motel bed… It was slightly apparent that he wasn't dealing with returning from purgatory very well.

"Awesome," he mumbled, the word almost physically leaking with sarcasm. "So what are we thinking? Crowley?"

Sam scrunched up his face and tilted his head. "Too random for a guy like Crowley," he replied, running his hands through his thick waves of chestnutty hair. "I mean, Crowley's a businessman. He may be a slimy creep, but at least there's sense behind his madness, and all the victims were just - ordinary people."

Dean let out a short exasperated sigh, and upon realizing he's drained every last atom from the whisky bottle, headed back to his knife collection. "So we're hunting a regular, black-eyes dick?" he said.

"Seems that way."

Dean awoke in the morning to the sound of a bird chirping just outside the room's window.

"Fucking bird…" he groaned, trying hard to hang onto the left over fragments of his dream.

He very rarely got to enjoy dreams. He very rarely had normal ones. Usually they consisted of terrifying, pain-filled memories of hell and purgatory – combined to create one single place of purest evil. Or he would have visions of various loved ones plunging to their death… He had a lot of those. But by the time he opened his eyes, his dream had all but gone. All he could remember was chocolate, champagne (because in his dreams, Dean was a fancy motherfucker) and a sexy companion.

He groaned a few timed before wincing as his eyes came in contact with the brightness of the early morning sun seeping through the window beside him.

Sam sat at the edge of his bed, laptop in lap and deep in research.

After Dean begrudgingly slinked off the not-so-comfortable-but-great-compared-to-nothing bed, he headed to the mini bar.

Briefly looking up from his laptop, Sam gazed over at his brother before lightly tossing the laptop to an empty area of the mattress beside him, and then went back to bitch-face mode.

"Dean, its 7'oclock in the morning, really?" he whined, watching as his brother twisted open the top of a new whisky bottle and poured himself a glass.

"My whisky, my rules, Sammy," he replied.

"… Actually that's _my_ whisky, Dean." Sam was quickly getting more worried and concerned with every mouthful of alcohol Dean consumed. What did he see in purgatory? What did he do to make him drink so much? Or so much more, he should say.

Dean lifted the newly opened bottle and peered down at the label, pretending to expect a messy handwritten 'SAM' somewhere on it. And to his surprise, there was.

He looked back over at Sam. "Yeah, well… I'm older, so it's still my rules," he grumbled cynically.

Sam rolled his eyes, assuming that taking this conversation any further would lead into another brotherly chick-flick moment, and he knew how Dean hated those.

So he settled with the eye roll and bitch-face level: high and said no more.

Most of the day was pretty straight forward. Well, to you or me this would have been some pretty fucked up shit, but to the Winchesters – same old, same old.

After Dean had consumed his fill of Sam's whisky, his brother wondering if he was actually able to get drunk anymore or if he'd somehow built up an immunity to it, they headed to the most recent crime scene – Dean dressed in a darkened grey suit and Sam dressed in a darkened blue one, both wearing their 'authority' faces.

"Hi, I'm agent Novak and this is my partner agent Costello," said Dean, holding up his fake FBI badge for the briefest of moments before putting it back in his jacket pocket.

Sam did the same. "We'd like to take a look at where Mrs. Ashton was found, if that's alright," It wasn't a request it was more of a command and allowed no room for rejection.

The short little 5"6 police officer shifted his weight from foot to foot as he stared up at the agents, towering over him like wild animals.

"Sure, just follow Deputy Anderson over there; he'll take yah straight there."

They nodded in his direction and left, making the officer shiver slightly as they passed. Because man! Those guys were frightening and he was sort of relieved to have them out of his presence… There was no question they were FED's.

"Hey," Sam whispered as the Deputy escorted them through the musky scented house.

"What?" Dean whispered back.

"Why do you keep using that alias name? You know we're supposed to change it every time we work a new job." His tone was firm but sensitive. Something was clearly wrong with his brother ever since he came back from purgatory, no matter how much Sam wanted to ignore it, and he felt '_Mr. Novak'_ and Cas's absence might have something to do with it.

"Here it is," interrupted the Deputy.

They had wondered into a blood-soaked bedroom with chunks of hacked flesh peeling and clinging from the roof for dear life, and a pool of intestines outlining the small, frail corpse mangled on the ground.

With that sight Sam thought it probably wasn't the best time to be bringing up Dean's emotional state, so he dropped it immediately.

"It's… Just like we found it," stuttered Deputy Anderson with a voice that was quivering and catching in his throat - like he was about to be violently sick.

"It's okay, Junior," said Dean, giving him a light pat on the shoulder. "We've got it from here."

"Thank you, sir," he replied and bolted out of the room faster than Dean to a pie sale… Well maybe not _that_ fast, but you get my point.

Once he had left, Dean took a step towards to the body and let out a short, impressed whistle.

"I know," said Sam, kneeling down between his brother and the corpse. "When was the last time you saw this much blood?"

Dean walked slowly around the room, checking windowsills for sulfur and whatnot. "What the hell is this demons problem, man?"

Sam examined the body and noticed something on the side of Mrs. Ashton's face, almost like a black burn mark, but he couldn't quite tell with her face squished flat against the floor.

He crouched over a pool of blood seeping slowly through the carpeting and lifted up the girls head softly. His face suddenly became tense and ridged as he found out what the marks were.

"Dean," he said, harsh and urgent.

"Hn?" replied Dean, momentarily looking behind his shoulder to spot the look on Sam's face. And that face definitely said something other than random demon slaughtering was going on here.

Sam tightened and loosened his jaw before lifting Mrs. Ashton's head a bit further up and Dean felt something punch the pit of his stomach.

"Angels?" Dean said, but he was almost at a loss for words. Ever since he came back from purgatory, there's been no talk or sign of the creatures. His gaze hovered over the poor girl's eyes (or lack thereof) and couldn't help but let out a deep, aggravated sigh. "So what, this is some kind of Angel hit?" he added.

Sam gently returned the women's head to the blood-drenched floor, her forehead making a soft, squishy sound as it melted back into the syrupy liquid.

"I've never seen anything else make these marks," Sam answered while making a vaguely sickened face as his wrist rubbed against a jagged piece of broken bone jutting out of the girl's neck.

"What kind of Angel spills open some chick's stomach? I mean, c'mon Sammy, that's just gross!"

"And this place reeks of sulfur," said Sam. "And what about all those witnesses who saw _'black smoke'_ and _'black eyes'_? I mean, why would they lie?"

As Dean stared down at the lifeless clump which used to be a living, breathing, human woman, her legs and arms bent in completely unnatural ways, he sighed deeply. "Demon or Angel?" he said roughly.

Sam grunted as he picked himself up off the floor. "I don't know," he said.

They headed back to a motel for a quick situation assessment, although Dean just mainly wanted another glass of something alcoholic. Seeing that burnt-out shell of a human made him think back to all the Angels he met – to Castiel and how he failed to save him.

He rubbed his temples before sliding his fingers down to his bottom lip, a habit Sam had come to notice he did whenever troubled and especially didn't feel like talking.

Once Sam unlocked the door to their shared motel room he sat down at the little round table placed in front of the bathroom and opened the top of his laptop, it hummed as it pinged to life and sent hot waves of electricity all over its body.

He still wanted to confront his brother, ask him why he was acting so down, why he looked so sad whenever he thought he wasn't looking. But it was probably best to let it go – at least until they finished this job. Besides, if Dean didn't want to talk about it, Dean wouldn't talk about it.

There was a sudden loud scratching at the door, coarse and uneven.

Without even a seconds delay, the two brothers stood fully erect, facing the door with weapons in hand – Dean with his immaculately polished handgun and Sam wielding the demon knife they acquired years ago.

As the scratching continued, they looked meekly at each other and then back at the bare door.

Dean stepped forward and pressed his gun firmly on the flat of the wood, his other hand tensely hanging beside him – ready to punch at a moment's notice, he peered through the peephole.

Nothing there.

But the scratching still remained.

Dean aggressively swung open the door, pointing his gun directly in front of him while his brother stood just as serious and attack-ready behind him.

Still nothing there.

Dean was about to close the door again with lack of any other ideas, when he looked down and noticed a small, shaggy white dog, looking up at him with his tongue dipping in and out of his mouth.

The both of them sighed with relief and mentally punched themselves, embarrassed at how worked up they got over a little dog – barley bigger then one of Sam's feet.

Dean hated to admit it, but he sort of had a soft spot for dogs, little dogs especially. They reminded him of Sam – younger Sam, the one he would take care of night after night as their father went off on hunts. It was mainly because of those eyes: big, bright, round and filled with so many emotions Dean himself refused to admit he felt.

"Sonofabitch," Dean lowered his gun and bent down to roughly pat him. "Scared the shit out of me."

Sam wondered back to his laptop. He was having a hard time looking at dogs without thinking back to the life he made before Dean came back. He fidgeted in his seat as he thought back, but with a quick shake of his head he went back to concentrating on research.

Meanwhile the dog rolled on the floor, begging Dean to scratch his furry stomach. Dean laughed as the dog panted with enjoyment.

"Ah, Dean?" said Sam eventually. "We have work to do."

Dean begrudgingly stood up and closed the door "Yeah, okay." He regretting it immediately as the dog's big brown eyes starred up at him pleading to be stroked a little more.

He put his gun back in his pocket then joined Sam by the laptop. "Found anything?" he asked, making the wood of Sam's chair creek as he leant his palm against it.

Sam shook his head in response. "The reports _do_ mention a burn on each victims eyes, but it's written down as blowtorch inflicted."

"Well what do you expect them to write it down as? _Angel grace_? That would sound crazy even to me." Dean leant over his little brother and grabbed a half empty bottle of beer left over from the night before. He gave it a quick sniff before deciding it was still good and took a few swigs.

"The thing is, it _is_ Angel grace – at least it looks that way," said Sam, ignoring his brother and how disgusting he was being.

"Doesn't make it any less crazy, Sammy." Dean patted Sam's shoulder lightly and headed back to his bed and collapsed onto it like he was suddenly all out of energy.

Then it happened. A deep, hollow echo thundered inside the room. The whole place turned black as the bulbs in the lights popped and shattered. Dean and Sam could do nothing but sit there, staring up at the roof trying to follow the noise with their eyes. Sam's knife had managed to find its way back into his hand and Dean had instantly yanked his gun out of his pants as soon as the noise started, and was thrusting it at random directions of the ceiling.

Short bursts of blinding light shattered through the darkness and as quickly as it would come, vanished again a few seconds later.

There was a loud, _painfully_ loud noise. Like a shriek of desperation and pain molding with the thundering claps. The sound was so excruciatingly painful Sam and Dean had to cover their ears in fear of their brains oozing bloodily from out their heads.

Amidst the noise and confusion, Dean somehow managed to concentrate enough to create a coherent memory… He's heard this noise before, ages ago – _years_ ago. The sound – the_ voice_ – was thrashing around inside his head, almost calling out to him, pleading for him to hear.

"Cas…tiel?" Dean struggled to say as he found himself clutching his hair and dropping heavily to the floor.

And just like that – _poof_ – it was gone, all of it. No noise, no nothing.

Dean looked up and gave a quick scan of the room: a few smashed glasses, scattered papers left flying around, and a few windows seemed to have long, thick splinters and chips running in uneven lines across the glass. But nothing of huge importance. Although Dean's gut did sink a little when he saw the shattered whisky bottle spread across the floor.

"Aw, man," he whispered to himself and somehow mustered up the strength to stumble to his feet between the remaining aches swirling around his head.

Sam was still sitting at the table. His feet were spread firmly on the ground for balance while clutching his laptop close to his chest for dear life with one hand, while the other held limply onto the demon knife.

"Well that was weird," said Dean, returning to his crumpled bed.

Sam let out a breathy laugh before falling dead silent.

"Sam?" Dean sat up when he spotted the graveness on his brother's face. What was that? Fear? Angst? Sorrow? _Joy_?

Sometimes Sam was a little infuriating to read, he had so many emotions, although better that then him without his soul. Dean shivered as his thoughts drifted back to that time.

"Dean," said Sam, interrupting Dean's day-nightmaring. He flicked his head towards Dean's back and starred at the space with the same confusing expression.

When he swung around, Dean fully expected to find a batshit crazy demon riding around in some old lady… That came out wrong. He swung around, gripping his gun tightly in both hands. Yes, the weapon wouldn't have been of any use if it was in fact a demon behind him, but still, better than nothing.

However, as soon as he swung around, his grip loosened and the gun almost dropped out of his hands as he gazed up at the perfect, slender, raven-haired Angel standing before him.

His eyes were as blue as ever – if not bluer. Dean remembered those eyes. That confused face, that trench coat. Oh, how he missed it.

"Cas?" Dean heard Sam say from somewhere behind him. His tone was surprised and confused, but pleased.

Dean could hardly concentrate. How? _How on Earth was he here_? He saw him with his own eyes – slipping through his fingers as he tried to pull him with him through the portal and back to Earth. Tried to save him and failed.

"Sam…" replied Castiel with a little nod and a small, warm smile before moving his gaze to Dean. "Dean," he said, the smile quickly vanished and was replaced with a grave expression.

_Shit, he hates me_ thought Dean.

He wanted to apologize, tell him how hard he tried to get him out of purgatory, how much he loathed himself for failing. Instead, he ignored these thoughts, stood up and embraced the Angel in a tight, manly hug, leaving both Sam and Castiel more than a little shocked.

Castiel felt his hands hesitate as he lifted them up almost in disbelief – wanting to hug the man in return. But didn't. Here they were: Sam and Dean, finally, _finally _in front of him again. But his mind drifted off to all the wrong he's done_. _All the suffering he caused, especially to these two. He didn't deserve there presence, and he especially didn't deserve Dean's embrace.

"Dude," said Dean. "You're supposed to hug back."

Castiel was still for a few more moments before he let his insecurities go as he felt Dean squeeze him close to his body. He let his hands wrap around the hunter's shoulders and he couldn't help smile faintly as be burrowed his chin into the side of his neck and closed his eyes, soaking up all the warmth and comfort Dean possessed.

As Sam sat and watched, he suddenly felt like his mere presence was intruding on his brother and his friend in some way.

Before Castiel knew it, Dean was gone - sitting back down on the edge of his bed, taking his warmth with him.

"What the hell, man?" asked Dean, breaking the silence that had formed during their hug.

Castiel suddenly became uneasy. _Did he hug wrong? Was Dean being sarcastic and or mocking him?_ It was hard to say, Dean often did those things and it was sometimes a struggle to differentiate between joking and sincerity with him.

So he just stared blankly, his lips slightly parted but making no actual sound.

"Seriously, man," Dean continued. "What happened? How are you here?"

Castiel looked over at Sam who was also eyeing him confusedly. "My grace," he said flatly, his deep raspy voice shooting into Dean's ear like a syringe.

He missed that voice, so did Sam, but Sam and Castiel didn't share the profound bond which connected his brother with the Angel. That was something which linked the two together no matter where they were. Castiel had marked him, and Sam would never be able to feel what the two of them shared – what they felt whenever the other was in danger. "It was my grace," Castiel repeated.

"You're gonna have to spell it out a little clearer than that, Cas," said Dean, sliding his gun into the back of his well-worn, sun-faded jeans.

Castiel tilted his head in reply. He thought his answer was more than sufficient; however he did understand how slow Dean could be sometimes. "It is something all us Angels are built with knowing - how to project our physical form into the mind of another by stretching and bending our grace to fit with that other's emotional state." He shifted his gaze over to Sam. "I had originally planned to enter your mind, Sam. With your emotional level still being weakened from the abuse it took in hell," Castiel paused to look down at the floor, suddenly wrapped with guilt as he remembered all the sinful displays of cruelty he inflicted of his friend. He rubbed the nape of his neck awkwardly before looking back up to face him.

Sam stared back at Castiel, watched as the remorse shimmied across his eyes. Sam knew that look, he _lived_ that look practically every day. "But I didn't hear you," he said.

"No." mumbled Castiel.

That's when Dean remembered. He'd heard it – that familiar screeching noise pounding through his thoughts just moments ago, and all those years ago after he surfaced from hell. It was Castiel's voice.

"Your mind rejected my grace and refused to let me in," Castiel continued and turned to face Dean, eyes solemn and deep with emotion. Sam looked at him guiltily and clenched his jaw like he had done something wrong. "But when I reached out to you – you welcomed me inside you," Castiel continued.

Dean couldn't help but wince as he heard that. He couldn't have worded that a bit better? Come on, Cas.

And there was that feeling again. Like Sam was imposing. He looked over at the two of them and saw how awkwardly they were staring at each other. He rolled his eyes. Cas hadn't been back five minutes and already they were back to eye-sexing. But for some reason they both seemed so sad - so disappointed in themselves.

He cleared his throat softly before stepping into the bathroom with the pretense of needing to use the toilet. He closed the door behind him so the two could talk in private, but the upside to cheap motels is how thin and _not_ sound proof the walls are… Although that could also be considered a negative point depending on the situation.

Dean found this sort of thing difficult to say the least. _Apologizing_. What a dirty word, the only time he ever permitted apologizing was when… Nope, he never permitted apologizing – too 'chick-flick' momenty for his liking. But this was Cas, and he wronged him, left him in purgatory to rot for all eternity, the least he could do was say sorry.

He eventually managed to say it with a hefty amount of struggle.

The Angel cocked his head again; if anyone should be saying sorry it should be him. _He_ let in the leviathans, _he_ broke Sam's wall, _he_ caused all the death and destruction, _he_ hurt, betrayed and lied. Not Dean. "For what?" he said.

"Leaving you," Dean replied.

If Castiel's head tilted any further, Dean was sure it was going to snap off and leave him – yet again – Angel-less.

"I'm not sure I understand what you're saying, Dean"

Dean got up and took a few long steps until they were face-to-face. A proximity Castiel was told over and over again was 'inappropriate' and 'invading'. The closeness of Dean's body made him uneasy, and he wondered if that was how Dean felt every time he stood that close. If so, he understood why he had ordered him to refrain.

"Look – _I'm sorry_!" Dean growled through almost gritted teeth. It was probably the best apology he was ever going to be able to give. "I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough, I'm sorry I left you in purgatory. I know – _I know_ – I could have saved you! But I didn't! _And I'm sorry_."

He never looked away from Castiel's eyes, not once. It made the entire atmosphere muggy with discomfort; even Sam could feel it as he casually listened in on their conversation from the bathroom. Eavesdropping he knows, but he was desperate to find out what had happened to the two of them while they were gone.

Castiel saw something flick across Dean's eyes: a mixture of vast, contradicting emotions. "You don't truly believe my staying was your fault, do you, Dean?"

Dean stepped back, giving them a little room to breathe and frowned as he looked at the Angel. Why was he being so nice to him? A thought that was simultaneously lingering in Castiel's mind.

"Of course it was my fault!" he retorted back, perhaps a bit more aggressive than he had meant to. He was about to continue when the look in Cas' bright blue eyes stopped him in his tracks. It was a look of sympathy, pity and understanding.

"No, Dean," he said flatly. "It was not your fault."

"Shut the fuck up, Cas! I know what I did!"

Before he could continue, Castiel had placed two fingers flat on the top of his forehead, thrusting him into the memory of when they parted. However, this was different. He was seeing this through Cas's point of view.

And it was not how he remembered it at all - _not_ _at all_ – Instead of Dean losing his grip on Castiel's hand, leaving him stranded without him in God's personal hellhole, _Castiel_ was the one who broke away. Begging Dean to leave him to repent for the things he did to him and Sam.

And then he was back, back in the motel room, standing in front of Castiel (a much cleaner and less bearded Castiel, granted) pressing two strong fingers against the skin on his forehead.

"Do you see now, Dean?" His voice was deep and almost mournful. The way Dean looked at him when his eyes reopened sent a straight blade deep into Castiel's chest. "You saw what you wanted to see," he continued, breaking eye contact. "You saw what you thought made sense because that's how you see everything, Dean Winchester. _As your fault_."

The utterance of Dean's name – his _full_ name – sent shivers up and down his spine, especially with it being said in Castiel's low, monotone and doleful manner.

"I don't deserve your friendship, Dean."

The hunter stared at the Angel for a few long moments, breathlessly viewing the sadness pooling out of his eyes.

"Look, man," he finally said after a moment of silence. "There's a saying here on the surface that goes like this: you take the good, you take the bad, you take it all and there you have the facts of life."

Castiel squinted his eyes and he looked back up at Dean. He may be uneducated when it came to a lot of human activities, but he had been around Dean long enough to understand a simple reference when it came along. "Isn't that a song?" he asked.

"That's not the point," Dean replied quickly, slightly embarrassed that Castiel knew what he was talking about when he was genially trying to make a deep, sensitive point. "What I'm trying to say it… I'll always take you. The good and the bad. All of it. That's what our life means."

Dean saw Castiel's brow bend and twitch as he tilted his head yet again. Was that… longing he saw in the Angels eyes..? Nahh.

Sam was almost ready to burst out laughing. _Really, Dean, really_? Although he expected that was as close as expressing his feelings he was ever going to get.

Then Dean heard the familiar soft scratching noise return at the door. The noise instantly stopped Sam's muffled giggling until he remembered the sweet, innocent look of the puppy, and then proceeded to continue giggling. "I'll take you! The good, the bad! All of it!" he whispered to himself, deepening up his voice to mimic his perfect Dean impression.

Castiel looked over at the door. Whatever expression he had moments ago was completely drained from his face now and changed with something closely resembling hate.

"It's cool, man," said Dean, giving him a firm pat on the back, making Castiel jerk forward ever-so-slightly as he didn't expect it.

Dean strutted over to the door, about to open it and give the cute little adorable dog one more pat before sending it on his way, when Castiel, with all his might and terror, screamed out Dean's name, urging him to stop immediately. However, it was too late. The door was open and a little, brown-eyed puppy sat on the doormat, head cocked like Castiel's usually was.

All it took was one blink of Dean's eyes and the think was on him. Gnawing at his chest like it was a chunk of lean steak. Castiel rushed towards them, muscles still limp from the incredible effort it took embedding his physical body into Dean's mind. But again, it was too late.

The dog flopped over creating a light 'thud' as its stiff dead body hit the floor. Black smoke plunged out the animal's lifeless mouth and into Dean's.

Castiel stopped in his tracks as Dean rose from the floor, shirt ripped open and anti-possession tattoo bitten and scratched off. His eyes flashed a matted black before returning back to the sappy greenness of its original owner.

"Hello, _Castiel_," Dean said, or more accurately – the demon possessing Dean.

Sam rushed out of the bathroom with his knife held tightly in his hand. "What happened!?" he yelled, genuinely confused at how the awkward bromance scene he was just listening to had suddenly turned into whatever the hell was currently happening.

Dean – the demon – the_ Deanmon_, thrust out his open palm and flung Sam back into the bathroom, smashing his head against the mirror as his body came tumbling back to the ground. "Bye, bye, Sammy-boy!" snickered the Deanmon. "This conversation is between the grown-ups." He slammed the bathroom door shut and Sam was officially cut off from the situation.

Sam was unconscious, but thankfully Castiel could still hear his heartbeat – he wasn't dead. At least not today anyway.

"Get out of him," Castiel snarled. He was far beyond pissed. It was one thing to possess a human, control their body and make them do your dirty work, but no one – _no one_ – got to possess one of the Winchesters. "If you don't leave that man's body this instant I'll - "

"You'll what!" interrupted the Deanmon, loudly. "_Hurt_ me? _Kill_ me?" He smiled as he spoke, showing the upper layer of Dean's perfect teeth. "Don't forget Cassy-kins – hurt me, and you hurt Dean."

The sight of Dean's face like that made Castiel want to rip of the demons limbs and burn then in a vat of holy water. Dean's perfect, beautiful, freckled face, his emerald eyes, his plump, pink lips and fluffy, dirty blond hair – all knotted, twisted, mangled and distorted by the demon's true face.

_How. Dare. He_.

"I could just exorcise you," said Castiel. His voice deepened and deepened with ever sentence he said.

As he went to recite the usual exorcism he suddenly felt the Deanmon's finger flick across his nose.

"Boop," the Deanmon said as he flicked.

Castiel's knees buckled underneath him and he felt his eyelids get heavy. He still wasn't fully recovered from the trip from purgatory, through the vail of nothingness that lay adjacent to this world and others, and into Dean's mind. He guessed a mild demon flick was enough to blast any energy he had had in him straight out.

But if he could just wait, only a few hours and he would be back to normal… It didn't seem hopeful. But it was either that or an 'intimate joining of his soul with his claimed soul'… That didn't seem hopeful either. One: he didn't know what it meant, and two: the human described in his programming was currently… Occupied.

The Deanmon lifted Castiel up by the collar of his trench coat and brought him close to his face so their foreheads were almost touching.

"You can't kill me," he rasped. It sounded so much like Dean; Castiel had to shift his gaze. "I mean – that's why you're here in the first place, right?"

The Angel said nothing, hanging limply in the demon's clutch. Oh, there were things he wanted to say – _a lot _of things. But he kept them to himself while his mind raced a mile a minute, searching for reasonable solutions out of this mess. If Sam could just come to, he could smash that door down with his super-moose strength, and exorcise this little bitch.

Sadly, that did not happen. Sam stayed unconscious and spread out on the bathroom wall like a hung-over partygoer.

"Please," Castiel pleaded, looking up at the demon in a way which closely represented the puppy the thing had just possessed. "Please leave Dean alone."

The Deanmon just hissed a laugh in response, mocking Castiel like the pathetic loser he was. "You came here to save those cwute, wittle Winchester bwothers from wittle owd me, didn't you?"

He stayed silent.

"Didn't you!" the Deanmon bellowed, immediately losing any form of 'baby-talk', and slapped the Angel's cheek as he screamed, causing him to wilt under the Deanmon's firm grip yet again.

"Yes," replied Castiel, barely above a whisper.

The Deanmon crouched down in front of him and craned his head a little to the left, a gross, toothy grin ripping across Dean's once beautiful mouth. "I knew it," he said, dropping his voice to the level of Castiel's. "As soon as this fine piece of ass-" he gestured to himself – _Dean's_ body. "-Opened that door to let me in, I felt you." He bent forward and roughly cupped Cas's chin in his hands. "You've been watching over this hunk of perfectly-toned-biceps even in monster land. And as soon as you saw me you thought – _oh shit! My two incredibly handsome human pets are going to get it!_ And you couldn't have that."

Castiel desperately tried to avoid eye contact with the monster in front of him. He was picking him a part bit by bit, and he couldn't stand it.

"Look at me, Castiel," he said, sending a painfully cold shiver down Cas's spine. The voice which sounded so much like Dean's - but twisted into perversion – echoing his name like a curse. Castiel just wanted to rip his ears off (although considering the fact that the ear isn't what permits you to hear sound, and is in in fact, just there for show, he thought it probably best not to do that.)

"Look at me, Castiel!" the Deanmon repeated, driving another hard, hostile slap onto the side of the Angel's face.

As Castiel thought how impossible the demons command was to complete while being slapped about, he begrudgingly looked up, pale blue meeting purest black. Blood started to trickle out of his nose and he could feel his face all swollen and bruised. He wasn't going to last those remaining few hours, that much he knew.

The Deanmon brought the Angel's face towards him; it was so gentle and soft that it created a feeling of fear so more allusive that it was thousands of degrees more terrifying than the threat or procedure of torcher.

And then suddenly, with no indication, warning or sense – their lips locked. _Their lips locked_. Castiel tried to pull away, but couldn't. The strength the demon possessed was far more increased than his was at the moment. _What was happening_?

Between the sloppy and uncouth friction the two pairs of mouths made on each other, Castiel could hear the Deanmon chuckling – laughing away like a deranged hyena. The bastard was toying with him – _hurting_ him and _stealing_ things Castiel didn't want stolen

Sure he had thought of this before – of Dean's mouth loosely pressed against his - Of Dean's muscular hands gripping his shoulders controllingly and how it would feel to have his breath graze his skin… But of course he kept those thoughts to himself, never uttered them to another living thing. Well, maybe a cat or two – and Balthazar, obviously. But those ideas and emotions were forbidden to all Angels. The thoughts were dirty and impure, and no warrior, soldier or messenger of God should ever develop them, and no other Angel had (although he often wondered about Gabriel). But Castiel didn't care what he felt. But not like this. He didn't want it like this.

As the Deanmon snickered in the background, Castiel felt a sudden rush flow throughout his body – like a title wave of power surging back into his body. He was strong again – dominant again - he was graced-up Castiel again.

_An intimate joining of his soul with his claimed soul. _Is that what the programming meant? _A kiss?_ He never understood how close to the other partner you felt when locked in a kiss. In truth, he's only ever kissed someone once before – another demon (this was becoming a habit and not at all a good one), and that was only because he wanted to know what all the fuss was about.

But it felt nothing like this. The shape of Dean's lips fitted perfectly with his own and filled him with such strong, incomprehensible emotions no Angel should ever feel. By the time he realized he's let out a short, soft moan, it was too late to do anything about it. The Deanmon had heard him and was definitely not going to let it go unnoticed.

The Deanmon broke away from Castiel's lips and smirked deep and bitterly. "I fucking knew it!" he shouted with far too much enthusiasm for Castiel's liking, whose frame shuddered with embarrassment as he vainly tried to compose himself.

"Landriel was right!" The Deanmon continued, letting the limp vessel of the Angel flop ungraciously to the ground as he hooted manically. "Holy King of Hell, I am having the _best_ day!"

"Landriel..?" rasped Castiel, a thick bubble of concern rose in the pit of his gut – he knew that name. It was an Angel name.

His grace suddenly wriggled inside his stiff body, easing his pain slightly and massaging the pounding thumps of pain springing up and down his sore nose and cheek. He was almost back to full divine supremacy, but no amount of grace could stop his worry upon hearing a demon utter one of his brothers names, and utter it so _casually_.

"Lower Angel," replied the Deanmon, shrugging his shoulders as if nothing he talked about was of any import. "Good pals, me and him." His eyes darted down as Castiel for a split of a second, lavishing in the distress printed across the Angel's face. "We've been quite close and chummy recently. You know – ice-cream, pictures, joint murders, dinner – usual stuff."

Castiel's eye's widened with shock. A demon and an Angel _working together?_ How _filthy!_ Although he wasn't one to talk, look at him and Crowley. If anyone was filthy is was him.

"What are you trying to say?" said Castiel, his tone dropping a few octaves lower still, grace slowly surging its way up his muscles.

The Deanmon rolled his eyes before giving Castiel a sharp, disappointed look. "You really are a moron, aren't you?"

Ah - another rhetorical question.

"You put too much faith in your brothers and sisters, Castiel." He leant forward and bent Dean's long, forceful fingers around Castiel's neck. "You've been watching through Dean Winchester's eyes, keeping an eye on him ever since he came back from purgatory. You saw that girl's body, you _know_ what happened – but you refuse to believe it, because how could an _Angel of the Lord_ willingly slit open an innocent young girl?" He dug his fingers into the tender flesh of Castiel's throat and slowly raised him off the tiled floor. "It's simple, Castiel. Landriel is just like you. And the Winchester is just like me."

Cas struggled to speak as the tips of the Deanmon's fingers pressed pitilessly against his windpipe. _"What… Are you… Talking about?"_ was the only thing which managed to come out of his mouth.

Castiel wasn't an idiot, at least – not at the present moment, and he could tell where the demon was going with this, what he was hinting at. And it made him sick to the core of his grace.

"Rumors spread," the Deanmon taunted Castiel; he licked his bottom lip – _Dean's_ bottom lip and stared down at him with the face of someone who was thinking of something very inappropriate. Far beyond MA rated, I can assure you. "Angel's hear things – they talk and it spreads. And us demons – _we_ hear things, and it spreads even faster."

A shimmering bolt of energy raced up Castiel's spine. Full power. At last.

The Deanmon leant into the Angel's ear and spoke so quietly and hoarse, it was almost like a wild animal. "You want to fuck the human, don't you?"

That was enough to stop Castiel dead in his tracks, stop any train of thought he had previously had and force him to stiffen and crumple his forehead. _No, no, no, no, no!_ He could not do this to Castiel, _torcher_ him like this was as low as it could get, like a hit below the belt. _No!_

"That's why you came back." Dean's voice – the perverted version twisted by the demon possessing him – said with a growl.

Castiel had finally been reunited with Sam and Dean, finally forgiven for his sins and gazed at with eyes that accepted him for who he was, and finally returned to the only place he felt he belonged. Just to have it – _all of it_ – taken away by an Angel and a demon.

"What you feel for this -" the Deanmon said, sliding his free hand across Dean's chest and down to his crotch, "is what I feel for Landriel. The only difference is, _my _feelings are returned."

Another punch below the belt. It felt like someone stabbed a sharp skewer deep into Castiel's back until it came out the other side – taking his heart with it.

"And nothing is going to separate us. Stop us from enjoying our activities, watching as the hunters stand baffled and exposed. Nothing. Least of all _you._" His eyes twitched. "So I'm gonna hurt you - _play_ with you and destroy your very essence… And then I'm gonna kill you, and then I'm gonna kill this hot piece of ass."

The Deanmon pressed his body against Castiel's and threw him jarringly into the motel's flimsy excuse of a wall.

"This is what you want isn't it, _Castiel?_" said the Deanmon, his tone aggressive and harsh. It was the sort of tone you would use when trying to spite someone – to physically _hurt_ them.

Castiel could have easily bulleted him off his body and through the next couple of successive motel rooms with just a shove of his hand now that his grace was fully recharged.

But he didn't. How could he?

He wouldn't – he _couldn't_ hurt Dean. Even if the man in front of him was technically not the human he knew and cared for.

"What's the matter?" the Deanmon mocked, driving his thumb deeper and deeper into Castiel's neck. "You don't like this? You don't like the feel of Dean Winchester strangling you?"

The fury, the rage, the loathing and disgust burnt inside him. "I'm sorry, Dean," he said, glaring down with equal rage and regret.

He lifted one of his fists and drove it harshly into the pit of Dean's stomach, launching him violently to the other side of the room. It would have been painful, but he had a plan. If an _'intimate joining of his soul with his claimed soul'_ was enough to restore his lacking grace and energy, then maybe the same applied to Dean.

The wall propped up behind Dean's bed proved to be sturdier than its appearance. As the Deanmon's body smashed into it, the full brunt of the force ramming into his meat suit's shoulder blades, Castiel visibly saw his now blackened eyes rattle inside his skull, and the noise the impact made was raw and dense. He even heard a bone or two break as they collided with the wall. The sound made Castiel wince in an unsurprisingly stoic manner as he thought of how Dean would feel when he regained control over his body.

The Deanmon grunted and groaned as he fell onto the rumpled sheets messily covering the motel bed. _"_Holy_ shit!"_ he just managed to bark out as he propped himself up with his elbows, head scratching against the wall he had just collided with as he tried to sit up. "Where in Hell's fiery pit, did you manage that one?"

Castiel ignored him. He stared down at the lowest form of lowlife currently riding around in his best friend's skin, wanting to tare that burnt, ashy face right off of him and throw it to a hungry pack of wolves. But he had to stay collected; he mustn't forget that that was _Dean's _body lying sprawled out and strength-less on the bed in front of him, muscles twitching in pain and head craned back revealing the smooth skin on Dean's neck… On second thought, perhaps he shouldn't think about that too vividly.

"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus-" began Castiel, slow and gruffly. Spoken expertly and proficiently – uttering the words with such skilled detail and continuity you would have almost believed it was his native tongue.

The Deanmon clutched at the sides of the bed, suddenly being jerked from side-to-side as Castiel spoke the incantation. The creature managed to look sharply up at the Angel who slowly walked up to him – almost calmly insouciantly, as if the thing possessed no danger over him. Which, to be honest, was far beyond true now that he had his mojo back.

"-Omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii-" Castiel loved the sight of the Deanmon thrashing about before him, screaming with pain and regret – regret for fucking with him and his Winchester. "-Omnis congregatio et secta diabolica. Ergo, draco maledicte ecclesiam tuam-"

As the Deanmon writhed on the creaky bed mattress, a thought occurred to him. He wasn't going to die like this. Being exorcised by the brother of his lover, the sole one he truly despised.

No.

But assessing the situating seemed fairly apparent. However… What if he took the human male with him?

Amid struggled gasps and muscle spasms, the Deanmon somehow managed to grab hold of the little pocket knife Dean always kept on his bedside table, you know – _for extra security_, and rapidly brought it down to his gut – _Dean's_ gut.

A little spurt of blood burst out his stomach as the knife pierced the skin. He looked up at Castiel, grinning harshly and bitterly while sweat dripped down his forehead and a streak of discomfort painted itself across his eyes.

As swiftly as swiftly goes, Castiel perched himself on top of the demon and the hunter, wrapping his legs around the other's waist. His long, lightly tanned coat covered both partners' legs and his weight was almost non-existent, but the act was more aggressive than if this had been a different situation. "-Secura tibi facias libertate servire, te rogamus, audi nos!" he finished. The words pooled out of his mouth in one fastened breath, quickly and roughly.

As the black smoke ploughed out of the Deanmon's mouth, Castiel wrapped his fingers around the mark he had created as he restored Dean's soul and pulled him from hell. It fitted perfectly and sent a wave of energy up the Angel's spine. As soon as all the smoke had been vanquished from Dean's body and bled through the ground and into the underworld, Castiel leant forward and placed his lips on the hunter's.

As he did, a yellow glow emitted from the wound in Dean's stomach and slowly began to heal over, making a fizzing sound as it did which could only have been Castiel's grace sliding through Dean's mouth as they kissed and straight to the open cut on his stomach, which was dripping with crimson blood.

Castiel slowly leant back up, knowing the wound was healed along with some other breaks and fractures caused by the impact of the wall.

For a moment Dean's eyes were closed – shut tight. When he finally opened them it was with a lot of winces and scowls. He looked up and instinctively jerked backwards until his head hit the wall roughly.

"What the fuck, Cas!?" he yelled which soon combined with a groan. As he spoke he started to feel the after burn of his previously broken bones and stabbed gut.

His face was flush and his eyes couldn't seem to land on Castiel's for longer than a millisecond, leading Castiel to come to the confronting and embarrassing conclusion that Dean must have been conscious during everything that just happened – all of it.

"Get the hell of me, man!" he heard Dean say abruptly before feeling another skewer pierce his heart as he stared solemnly down at his clearly uncomfortable friend.

He quickly (and somewhat begrudgingly) lifted himself off Dean's hips until he was standing tensely on the floor beside him. "You understand I had to do that, Dean," he said, watching as the man in front of him slid – almost aggressively – out of the bed. However, something else caught Castiel's eye: Dean was gripping his shoulder, at the handprint, as if it were hurting.

"Whatever, Cas," the hunter snapped back while still avoiding any form of eye contact. "Just _drop it_, okay? This _never happened_."

A third skewer.

Dean rushed over to the bathroom door and placed his ear to the wood. "Sammy!" he yelled. "You okay?" After hearing a tired, mumbled grunt, he leant back and with one fluid movement kicked the door down, making a jagged, splintery sound as the fragile wood broke from its hinges. "Sammy!?" he yelled again with a concerned howl.

Castiel stood and observed the hunter from the other side of the room. Through the fragmented door he could see the flat of Dean's back arching over a grumbly and barely-conscious Sam.

Now _he_ felt like the one imposing.

"Dude, are you alright?" he heard Dean mumble.

Sam's reply followed loosely along the lines of "Uggherrr-yeeahhh?"

Dean helped him to his feet, supporting his brother's overly muscular weight on his still-aching shoulders. The two of them stumbled gauchely into the room Castiel waited awkwardly in.

"Is there anything wrong with him?" asked Dean, staring up at the Angel with his serious face. It was the first time he's looked him straight in the eye since he regained control of his body.

Castiel quickly scanned Sam's body, starting from his bowing head and ending at his booted feet. "He is not concussed but has a number of slight fractured in several of his ribs." His reply was said with no emotion, no heart, and no care. Of course he was glad Sam was okay. More than glad, but why did Dean have to act so cold to him. He could understand if it was because of all the things he had done to hurt him before he opened the portal to purgatory – but it clearly wasn't. It was because of how he saved him. It was because of the mere thought of what they had done while he was possessed made Dean uncomfortable.

"Can you heal him?"

Castiel nodded timidly and took a step closer to the two brothers. As he Did, Dean found himself taking a step back.

"But with your _hands_ this time, okay, Captain Jack?"

The muscled in Castiel's jaws tightened. He didn't understand that reference, but the scornful implication which went along with it sent a hot wave of anger straight to his head.

He took another step forward, only this time more commandingly, and without taking his threatening stare away from Dean, placed two fingers on Sam's forehead. Dean stared back with an expression of much the same threatening power, only he sort of felt a twinge of guilt in his stomach as he looked into the Angel's lonely blue eyes. Although that 'twinge' could have also been the left over pain from his still aching stab wound, so he didn't address it too much.

The sound of Sam's abrupt gasp broke the couples glare as Dean looked over to make sure his brother was back to normal. Castiel, however, kept his eyes on Dean's. He removed his hand from Sam's forehead and took a few long steps back, giving the two of them some room.

"What happened?" groaned Sam, shifting his big, puppy-dog eyes from Dean to Castiel. "And what happened to you two?" he added.

"_Nothing,_" barked Dean, perhaps a little too quickly and a little too defensively. "First-class asshole broke in and started spouting the usual crap until me and Cas got the better of him." He glanced over to Castiel who was still staring indignantly at him. "Right, Cas?"

Castiel inhaled a long breath of air before cocking his head towards Sam, who was now sitting limply on the chair he had been on before, rubbing his head and scowling at the pain. "Yes." He replied with a deep, threatening edge. "Dean was very brave and courageous. The whole thing was accomplished through his excessive brutality and notable _cruelty_." And with that last word left to hover humidly in the air, he spirited away in order to regain some of his dignity before he did something unintelligible. It was the first time he had ever gotten that blindly mad at Dean, and he didn't really want to continue with the verbal beating which would ensue between the two of them if he had stayed.

Dean had gone back to cleaning some of his already immaculate knifes while sitting tensely on his bed, deep in thought about something.

Sam was busy packing his clothes into a few duffle bags but would stop every few minutes to shoot a concerned look in his brother's direction, wondering what was making him look so concentrated and at the same time not fully there. He thought about striking up a conversation, but he didn't have anything to say. "Hey," he eventually settled on. "Aren't you supposed to be getting packed? I thought the job was over. You and Cas took care of it, right?" His tone was worried and probing, yet remained kind and considerate.

Dean didn't exactly feel like telling his brother about the whole _Angel banging Demon_ part of the story, so he just left that part out and told him the victim's burn marks _were_ actually blowtorch inflicted, and that the demon was just one hell of a sick bastard. He didn't really care if Sam believed him or not, as long as he didn't ask any more questions.

Dean nodded before stiffly standing up and throwing his crap into his own duffle bag with very little enthusiasm or purpose.

Sam stared at him again. Come to think of it, he and Cas had acted a little weird back there. Well, they always acted weird together so it was often hard to differentiate between regular-weirdness and actual-weirdness. He figured now's situation fell into the latter category.

There was another momentary lapse of silence as neither brother did or said anything. Although it was shortly broken when Sam cleared his throat and went back to nonchalantly packing his bag.

"… Where do you think Cas is right now? I mean, it was a little weird – him vanishing off like that when he's just come back," Sam said.

Dean flashed a quick glance over at Sam who was speaking with his back facing him, mindlessly piling plaid shirt on top of plaid shirt and zipping up the black bag.

"Don't know, don't care," shrugged Dean. "Probably on some park bench frightening midnight joggers with his huge trench coat. How should I know?"

"Is everything okay with you two?" asked Sam, throwing his bag on the kitchen table lightly.

"Of course we're okay!" snapped Dean, harsh and aggressively. He really wasn't doing a good job of hiding how flustered he was. Every time he heard Castiel's name, visual images of the two of them locking lips and Castiel straddling him like a rodeo ride appeared. _Motherfucking demon_. How dare he do this to him. "Why the fuck do you care so much anyway?" Dean added bitterly.

Sam sighed and shrugged his shoulders. "No reason," he replied, almost exhaustedly.

Meanwhile, Castiel sat a small, wooden bench only a few blocks down the road f rom Sam and Dean's motel. He had a lovely view of little foresty area surrounding a small, reed-filled pond. The cold moonlight bounced off the water and created a beautiful white and blue shimmering effect. As Castiel sat and watched he though back to the first time he had ascended down from the heavens, claimed his vessel and walked amongst humanity. Passersby gave him a wide birth as they spotted him sitting there, legs spread apart, hands bunched together in his lap, and staring wistfully into the pond as if nothing else existed.

_Humans were so strange._ This was something Castiel had always thought. _How they moved, how they ate, slept and secreted bodily fluids._ It was all just so alien to him and he often found it difficult to understand their reasoning behind things. _Why sacrifice your own life for just one person? How was loyalty and truth such a wavering factor? And how did people find pleasure out of just another's company?_ He could never wrap his head around their ideas. But it was only through meeting the Winchesters – seeing how much they cared for each other _and_ all those around them, how far they would go for the rest of their kind and how sad they were when they parted, that Castiel began to grasp what humanity really meant.

And Dean Winchester was a large part of who he had become. He started to enjoy his company, started to lie to protect him, betrayed his people just to aid him and would sacrifice his own life just to keep him safe. Which he had done – frequently. Everything he did was for one human. One Winchester who grabbed his heart and squeezed it until all the feelings and emotions of a regular human being oozed out.

He understood Dean, perhaps more than anyone else. And perhaps the reason why he was so angry with him – _so fucking angry_ – was because he knew exactly why Dean had acted the way he had, and just didn't want to believe it. In a way, he always knew it would come down to this conclusion.

The depressed conclusion that the human Dean Winchester did not feel the same way as the Angel felt about him. Castiel had done nothing to permit that feeling. Dean had touched his heart and brought it down to earth, whereas Castiel had done nothing. Dean was already human, already riddled with emotion and mortality. Castiel had nothing to offer him, and he knew it.

They had pretty much packed up. Sam was finished long ago but Dean took his sweet-ass time folding his jeans and neatly placing them inside his bag, careful not to crease them in any places. If Dean's strange behavior before was a clear indication that something was wrong, the act of actually being _tidy_ was enough to send Sam in a worried frenzy.

Dean didn't really take any notice of his brother's pouting or constant staring, barely even knew he was still in the room. His mind was far away, what's that saying? – _The lights are on but nobodies home?_ – Yeah, that's the one. He packed his clothes and sheathed his knifes, all the while not at all paying attention. He ran through the scene with Castiel a million times in his head, he ignored the prominent factor of how uncomfortable he felt having a demon moving him around in him like a puppet master, and instead concentrated on the things the demon said.

How he compared himself and another Angel to him and Cas.

How he played with Dean's body to get at Cas.

How he laughed and tore the Angel apart and left him with raw emotion.

How he said – how he _lied_ – about Castiel's feelings for him.

That was the only explanation, right? The demon was lying. Being an evil manipulative bitch, trying to get into both their minds and screw with them. Dean knew he and Cas were close – they were friends, he knew that – everyone knew that. No matter what he's done, Dean still felt connected to him and cared for him. But fuck, he wasn't gay, and neither was Cas… Right?

After all, Castiel was the one who gripped him tight and raised him from perdition, gave him a second chance and stood by him as he and his brother fucked everything up. He _fell_ for him.

That's what that demon was trying to do. Twist simple brotherly love – no not love. Love's too strong a word… _Admiration?_ Yeah, that sounds a bit more manly – into something deep and girly.

It didn't matter that he got flustered as soon as the demon brought his body into Castiel's lips. It didn't matter that the warmth emitting from his mouth soothed him down and at the same time excited him – it didn't matter. _It meant nothing_. Because it was just the demon messing with him – that's what demons do.

Dean thought this over and over and over and over again until it had become a sort of passage he was constantly reciting in his head.

Then suddenly – _whoosh_ – with a flap of wings and a slight breeze, Castiel stood by the door glancing over at Dean who hadn't yet seen him.

Sam spotted him immediately. "Cas?" he said, genuinely surprised to see him again. "Hey, are you okay?" he asked.

Castiel's face was long and riddled with obsolete misery. He looked like he was about to cry and at the same time, it didn't? Like his face had just completely given up on all attempt to show any form of emotion which was barely present beforehand. But now, now his emotionless-ness was clear. Sam could see it plainly, and it made him think for some reason Castiel should be put on watch in case he did something stupid.

"Sam," Castiel replied pathetically. "I need to speak to Dean privately for a moment, do you mind leaving?" It wasn't really a question or a request, it was a sort of _leave right now or I'll have to make you_ kind of thing.

Sam willingly obliged. He grabbed his duffle bag and laptop which were patiently waiting to leave on the table, and with one last concerned, puppy-dog look, he headed outside with the keys to the Impala jingling loosely in his free hand.

Castiel slowly turned to Dean who by now must have realized he was here. Castiel assumed so because his back was facing him even more so and was making a clear show of avoiding him.

"Dean…" said Castiel quietly. "Dean I need to tell you something."

No response from the hunter.

"Dean, please." Castiel took a few long steps towards the man. It was only a few steps until he was standing directly behind him.

Still no response from the hunter.

So he did what any person in his situation would do. He whipped Dean around to face him and held his jaw in place so there was nowhere else to look except him. He could feel the muscles in Dean's jaw tense up and tighten under his grip.

"Listen to what I have to say," he said.

Dean was slightly shocked to see Castiel in such a state, with no emotion and all the light sucked from his once blindingly luminous eyes. What had happened to him?

The feel of Castiel's hand sent a hot wave down Dean's spine; his fingers were loose but firm and held him stiffly in place. Somehow he found himself melting into it and was almost disappointed when Castiel let go.

As Castiel wondered around the room, contemplating on how to string all the things he wanted to say in one coherent speech, Dean slowly sat down on the end of his bed.

"I'm sorry," began Castiel. "I understand how uncomfortable you must have felt while under a demon's possession. I also understand how my form of simultaneously healing the both of us… May have caused even more discomfort -" As he spoke, he stiffly paced across the room in front of Dean, avoiding eye contact for the time being. "There are things which don't exactly come naturally to us Angels. Concepts such as friendship, love, and enjoyment are all new things to me -" Castiel began to feel very nervous and he felt various muscles in his body spasm. Suddenly the air around him had become very thin and muggy – which was strange because he never felt temperature as a prominent aspect of his wellbeing, but he was consumed with a strong stuffy feeling.

He timidly removed his overly long trench coat, one arm at a time before holding it up in front of him to look at it. He loved that coat, and it made him happy. _Weird_. He placed it on the bench beside him and went back to his monologue.

Dean was hardly listening to anything the Angel was saying. As soon as that coat came off – _shit_. Underneath that coat was a black suit which framed Castiel's body perfectly. _Well fucking done, Jimmy_. Dean thought before giving his head a little shake and dislodged that thought immediately.

"- However I think it is fairly evident that I am unlike by brothers and sisters -" Castiel continued. But the heat was still suffocating him, like it was getting in his chest and cutting off the oxygen. He wrapped a finger and a thumb around the backwards blue tie around his neck, and with a shake of his hand and neck, the tie loosened and revealed a large area of neck and chest Dean had never seen before. Castiel's stubble inched down from his jaw and ended just above his Adams apple which was bobbing up and down as he spoke.

"- Through these ordeals, I have found myself becoming more and more human. I am becoming close to this species – to you -" With one last whip of his hand, the tie came completely undone making a quiet brushing sound as it scraped across the lapel of his shirt.

Dean suddenly felt a hot wave shoot down to his crotch and he found himself thrusting a hand aggressively between his legs to conceal a fairly evident erection.

_What the hell is happening?_ He thought.

Castiel shot a look over at him and paused his speech momentarily to wonder what Dean was doing.

When Castiel locked eyes with him another hot wave darted to Dean's crotch. He quickly and awkwardly crossed his legs and leant his head on the hand sticking up from his legs once he switched his weight to his elbow. He gave Castiel a prickly smile before the Angel turned back around and resumed his pacing and spiel.

_Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit _thought Dean. This was incredibly strange. He'd never – _never_ – reacted this way to another guy before – hell – he'd never reacted this way to a _girl_ the way he was reacting to Cas with just a timid coat removal.

"- So I am very sorry, Dean. For all the trouble and pain you have endured because of me. It will probably be for the best if you and I separate for the rest of the foreseeable future. I don't want to see you hurt again, especially if _I _am the one who creates it."

_How was everything Castiel doing suddenly so hot?_ The way he moved, the way he spoke, the sound of his deep, raspy voice. Dean never expected to be turned on by a dude's _voice_, but here he fucking was.

Castiel turned completely away from the hunter. All the man could see was the slim shape of the Angel's back, where the shoulder blades arched slightly as he moved his arms. Where the dip in his lower back met the top of his ass and where his legs stretched almost infinitely all the way to the ground where his feet were ever-so-slightly spread apart.

And _fuck_, Dean was abruptly filled with the overwhelming urge to touch – touch Castiel's back, his arms, his thighs, his legs, his stomach and _oh fuck!_

He slowly stood up; Castiel still babbling away at something Dean had long ago given up on trying to listen to. He stepped a few meters until his stomach and the Angel's back were almost touching.

"- What I'm trying to say, Dean, is that I lo -"

Dean gripped his shoulder and spun him around, much like Castiel had done to him before. His face was ridged with intense seriousness and Castiel couldn't understand what was happening. That is, until Dean stroked a thumb down the side of his face and ran it across the parting in his lips.

The lightness created by Dean's green eyes was almost gone; only a sliver remained circling a large expanded pupil. Dilated with what Castiel thought was lust. But how can that be?

He felt Dean press his thumb into the side of his collar bone and grip the back of his neck with the other four fingers. His breathing became heavy as he stared up at the hunter who stared lecherously back. Castiel's hands slowly rose from his sides and couldn't stop them when they settled flatly on the firm bumps of toned abs protruding from Dean's stomach.

With the hand gripping Castiel's neck, he brought his face closer and closer to his own, inch by inch, closing the already small gap between them. Castiel's breathe on Dean's lips were soft and warm and the man couldn't take it any longer. He craned Castiel neck up a little higher and thrust his lips on the Angel's, drawing out a low, needy moan.

He ran his fingers down Castiel's spine and he guessed he was doing something right, because the Angel arched his back into Dean's hands and let out a loud, excited groan while flinging his head back and tightly shutting his eyes. A sensitive area, wings maybe?

Dean repeated the action in reverse and brought his fingers up to trace across the same area. Castiel echoed the same noise and bent his head down to rest on Dean's chest.

_Wow_ thought Dean. _It's like he's never been touched before_. Which he was sure was true. Castiel was a virgin, he told him so himself. And unless he got freaky with some disgusting she-beast in purgatory, he was willing to bet that was still true.

Everywhere he touched was sensitive, which kind of made him laugh. Castiel had faced countless amounts of torcher and deaths and remained strong and stoic, yet here he was screaming like a desperate housewife and all he'd done was run a few fingers up and down his back.

_Oh, boy was this going to be fun._

He didn't even give a fuck anymore. Castiel looked so hot beneath him – so _fucking_ hot – and he didn't want to let go ever… Okay, so maybe he did like him. Shit – he liked him all along and was just too afraid to admit it. But as he stood there, slowly caressing the dents and dips of the Angel's back, he realized and couldn't give two shits anymore who knew it. He liked Cas Goddamn it!

He lifted his head and kissed the Angel again – this time deeper and more passionately. His tongue slid across the gap between Castiel's lips and then pried them open. Cas opened his mouth willingly and let Dean caress the inside with his tongue. It felt so good, so _insanely_ good.

Castiel tried to concentrate on where his hands were moving, at the moment he had them hugging the hunter's shoulders, each arm wrapped under a separate arm of Dean's and gripping each of his shoulders tightly – like a teenage girl in an anime finally embracing their crush.

If he was feeling hot before, it was _nothing_ compared to this – compared to Dean's torso being pressed up against his. He yelped when he felt the hardness of Dean's erection press up against his quickly growing one.

Dean was an expert, a master if you will, at the act _looooove_. However, he'd never done this sort of thing to another dude before. The idea made him uncomfortable, but here in Cas's arms, shit – everything felt _right_. Like why the fuck hadn't they been doing this the whole time?

He couldn't help but grunt when Castiel brought his hips up to meet his now straining erection. He felt himself collapsing and going all limp, and Castiel was clearly the same as he tried desperately to keep himself standing by gripping as hard as he could onto Dean's shoulders. So the hunter took the initiative, he brought the Angel around and flung him gently onto the motel bed. The bed bounced as Castiel's landed, eye's half lidded and looking up at Dean as if he was the physical manifestation of pleasure and ecstasy.

Dean couldn't believe he was doing this, couldn't believe he was doing this to a _guy_, couldn't believe he was doing this to _Cas_. But Goddamn it! He _loved_ it and never wanted to stop. The mere sight of the Angel was enough to finish him right then and there: his knees were slightly raised and his feet were flat on the bed, his hands stretched at his sides and gripping the bed sheets tightly in his clenched fists. Just begging Dean to do him.

Of course Castiel didn't exactly know what that meant; he just knew he wanted it. Of course he knew the technical aspect of the whole thing, seen humans doing it for generations upon generations. He never sought it out though, he wasn't Balthazar.

Besides, he could never really get into the idea of the thing. It all just seemed so _messy_. But as Dean wrapped his fingers around Castiel's thigh and let out a low grunt, he knew exactly why humans did it. It just felt so _good_.

Dean slowly moved his fingers to hover teasingly above Castiel's zipper. The Angel pulled his hands up to hold his soft and perfect neck and the two looked into each other's eyes for an intense, prolonged minute, until Dean broke the stare to look down at the Angel's groin. His mouth was parted and he was giving deep, short, hitched breaths, making Castiel moan in return.

Dean traced a palm over Castiel's neck and with a quick flick of his wrist, ripped open the thin white shirt covering the Angel's chest.

The Angel let out another gruff moan.

"Do you want this, Cas?" Dean said through muffled breaths. It sounded so much like what the demon had said earlier that evening, and yet at the same time, it was so completely different. There was care behind his tone – compassion and want, something that was entirely stripped from the demon's voice.

Castiel opened his eyes and looked up at the hunter who was hovering possessively above him. He nodded and reached out both of his hands to grasp the nape of Dean's neck, bringing his head down so he could plant a heavy kiss on the man's shoulder, and at the same time, wrapped a leg around Dean's thigh, pulling him closer to him.

Dean smiled warmly before getting down to business.

If this was Castiel's first time, he was gonna make it worth his while. Cas actually liked him; the angel was actually _willing_ to have Dean touch him. More than willing – he _wanted _it. And by the looks of it, he wanted it _badly_. Well, Dean was just going to have to reward him for that wasn't he? And he was feeling so elated and so hyperactive that he just wanted to blow Castiel apart, literally.

The Angel gripped his neck and ran soft, wet lips across various areas of his chest. He didn't really know what he was doing, he just wanted to feel and know every inch of Dean's body. But shit, for a guy who didn't know what he was doing, he sure was breaking Dean apart.

Dean sat up, forcing Castiel to stop; he looked up at the hunter and felt his arms slowly inch down his torso until they were resting on the man's hips. As he did this, Dean kept a firm gaze glued to the blueness of Castiel's eyes, illuminated and emphasized by the moonlight seeping its way into the room through the open window, never breaking the look while he ran his hands down the sides of Castiel's stomach, drawing yet another pleasured gasp, and slowly pulled himself down until his face was directly in front of Cas's crotch.

Castiel's penis ached and strained inside the confines of his trousers. It was a very strange sensation. Amazing and painful at the same time, and all he wanted was for Dean to touch him.

Which he promptly did.

Dean let his hand ghost over the zipper of Castiel's black dress pants; the Angel couldn't restrain himself from bucking his hips up to meet the warm palm of Dean's hand. He didn't even know he was going to do that, it just sort of happened on instinct… weird.

Dean fondled Castiel's erection through the fabric of his pants which sent another heated wave straight to his own penis, making it twitch and jerk with excitement and interest. He moved his hand from the Angel's pants and reached them up to his mouth and licked his fingers. He brought the hand back to Castiel's chest and softly pinched and rubbed one of his nipples with the wet tips of his fingers.

Castiel flung his head backwards and let his hair get ruffled by the contact with the pillow. He tried to grab hold of something, one hand gripped Dean's arm while the other grabbed a fist-full of the bed sheets and scrunched it under the force of his tight grasp.

"_Dean!_" he screamed. It was low and raw and almost made Dean Come in his pants right then and there.

Dean pushed his Angel up the bed until his back was flat against the wall. Castiel didn't have a clue what was happening, but _fuck he needed more_. His eyes were closed, his brow was scrunched, his mouth was parted making his loud, throaty breaths extremely obvious and his neck was craned back to lean on the wall.

_Fuuuuuck_ Dean though. _How is anyone that hot! Fucking shit should be illegal. _

Dean was still fully clothed, and so was Cas, technically. Seeing him without his trench coat and jacked did make him seem sort of naked, but technically he wasn't. And so he ripped of the remaining shirt from Castiel's back. The Angel got the hint and quickly unbuttoned Dean's plaid top, sure he could have just mojo-ed the thing off, but he wanted to feel Dean, all of him. And if he was becoming more human, he wanted to experience all the things humans took for granted – like flinging off your partner's shirt and scraping your fingers across their bare chest. It felt so good.

The two locked eyes again until Dean went back to eyeing his crotch.

He slowly placed his lips on Castiel's sheathed cock. _He's gonna fucking love this_.

And yes he did.

Castiel's head jerked forward and Dean suddenly felt long, slender fingers grip and pull his hair, bringing his head closer to his dick. "_Dean! Uh, Dean!"_ he moaned again, sending a spiral of erotic movement to Dean's cock.

The hunter chuckled from deep within his throat and caused Cas to shriek out even louder as the vibration of the laugh bounced against his penis. He moved his fingers from Cas's chest and brought them down to wrap around his thighs. Jesus – he was so firm and strong. Dean thought he should probably know that already, here was a guy who could take out an army of demons single-handedly without breaking a sweat, but he never really looked at the Angel properly. He was toned and perfectly slender. His biceps were hard and strong and the same applied to his legs – _shit._

Dean stuck out his tongue to roughly graze Castiel's almost impossibly hard erection, still covered by a layer of trousers and underwear. However, he still felt the dampness of Dean's saliva seep through the fabric and rub against him.

"Dean, _please!_" he mumbled, the words caught in his throat and came out horse and needy. Something Dean very rarely heard from the Angel.

Dean decided that that was enough playing; he dipped his fingers into the side of Cas's pants and slowly unzipped them with his other hand. Then he slowly – _slowly _– pulled them down. There was another layer of clothing underneath them, a pair of white boxers, they promptly came down too until there was nothing separating Dean's raw touch and Castiel's exposed skin.

The Angel's hands were still gripping Dean's hair; the hunter peeled them off him and led them down to his own crotch.

Castiel's eyes shot open as he felt his fingers press something hard. He couldn't believe he was able to made Dean feel this way. As his palm touched the hunter's erection, Dean continued to lead his hands around the bulge, teaching him how to touch. Before he knew it, Cas was already moving on his own, rubbing his thumbs along the sides of his inner thighs, and pulling down Dean's pants.

Dean grunted at the feel of Castiel's fingers tracing his underwear. He bent forward, suddenly going completely limp; his face lay flat on Castiel's stomach.

_Wow! All this with just a slight touch! Fucking shit!_

Dean quickly and impatiently whipped the rest of his pants off and brought his underwear with them. The both of them were now totally and utterly – completely naked. And it turned Dean on so much!

He gripped Castiel's cock tightly in his hands and brought his mouth to kiss the head. The Angel bucked his hips up again and his hands instantly returned to Dean's hair. He pulled on the fibers which provided Dean with an extra sense of pleasure and he moaned and grunted as he licked Castiel's dick and brought him deeper inside his mouth, all the while stroking and rubbing the underside with his thumb and fingers.

Castiel had never felt anything so intense. It was the single most amazing feeling in his entire life, how did he not know such a feeling existed? He could feel everything – every slight touch and movement. The wetness of Dean's tongue rolling around his penis, the vibration of Dean's moans on his skin, the heat from his breath – it was all just so _amazing!_

He leant forward and placed his head on the top of his hands gripping at Dean's hair. _"Dean,_" he whispered, and _fuck_ that almost tipped Dean off the edge. "Dean, I need you, _please_." His voice was so deep and broken, like he wasn't very far from coming himself. Jesus, that voice was just so done, it was on the brink of cracking and disappearing and it made Dean _so damn turned on!_

Dean released Castiel from his mouth, licking the shaft in one long line. Cas took his head off Deans but kept his hand entangled in his hair. They looked at each other for yet another prolonged moment, Dean smirked and moved to bite the Angel's bottom lip – not hard, just playfully, and he heard him moan into his mouth. He stuck his tongue out and felt it instantly collide with Castiel's, their tongues hugged and danced with each other until Cas broke the kiss.

"_Dean,_" he said again, bowing his head so his eyes were covered by his forehead. "_I can't take this, please!"_

Dean got the message. _Okay, okay, okay_ he thought. _It's time_. He looked around the immediate vicinity, searching for something he could use to make this whole experience a lot smoother for the both of them – especially Castiel.

_Lube, lube, lube, lube, lube. _He couldn't see any. _Shit._ He looked down at Castiel who had placed his head back down on the pillow, his eyes were closed and his hands were still faintly stroking Dean's chest, clearly deep in thought about some pretty naughty stuff, Dean thought.

Dean mentally snapped his fingers and rushed into the bathroom, immediately missing the warm heat of Castiel's body. He flung open the cupboard door frantically and found what he was looking for.

"Thank you sleazy motel bathrooms," he whispered to himself as he grabbed the small bottle of lube standing next to a container of baby oil.

He rushed back into the main room, and _oh my God._ Castiel looked so fucking _sexy_ \- sexy _and_ adorable all at the same time. Dean's mouth rolled open and he almost dropped the bottle.

The Angel was spread out on top of the mattress like a model posing for a naughty X-rated magazine. His arms were by his side, clutching the sheets for support and his legs were propped up with eager anticipation. His eyes were still closed and his head was craned to face Dean, his chest slowly heaved with every deep, needy breath he took.

Dean shook his head in disbelief that this was actually happening to him – this was _actually_ happening to him, he was doing one of his favorite things with his favorite person, and it made his so damn happy he had to slap himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming. He quickly rushed back over to the Angel and straddled his waist, the both of them moaned slightly with the return of each other's warmth and weight.

Castiel instantly shot his hands up to wrap his fingers around Dean's shoulder, scraping past the handprint gently.

The touch made Dean want to collapse and cry out with ecstasy. He didn't though. Instead, he managed to compose himself enough to squirt a palm-full of the lube onto his open hand. He rubbed them together and then slowly caressed his dick, making sure to cover it completely with the thick, warm liquid.

His cock twitched and jerked in his grasp, relishing in the contact and thoroughly enjoying his own strokes and squeezes – if he continued like this he wasn't going to be able to last any longer. And he really wanted to show Cas how good he could make him feel.

Castiel looked up, breathing heavily and wondering what the hunter was doing. His pupils expanded as he saw the man palming himself.

Dean looked down at him, their eyes locked and he couldn't help but smirk and let out a short, cut-off laugh as he saw the Angel's bloated eyes, a thin sliver of blue pierced straight through him. He slowly bent down and rested his hands flat on each of Castiel's inner thighs, spreading them open ever-so-slowly.

Castiel stared back and cocked his head, making Dean laugh even further, and he willingly let Dean wrap his own legs around his waist.

"Are you ready?" whispered Dean, low and gruffly – his voice physically breaking. It floated through Castiel's ears, his eyes became heavy and his breath hitched in his throat.

"_Yes, Dean,_" he replied as best he could. He was ready minutes ago and was becoming needy and impatient. "_Yes!"_ he repeated. Again he had no idea what he was ready for, he had a vague outline, but no solid notion of what was going to happen.

Dean spun his head around and planted a surprise kiss on the side of his Angel's mouth, at the same time he pushed a finger inside him. Cas mewled – he _mewled_ \- at the contact of Dean's fingers probing him.

Dean felt around inside him before gently pushing in another finger, and then a third. With every swirl he made, Castiel would cry out louder and louder until his moans became mixed with English and Enochian. And _oh shit_ if that didn't make Dean roll his hips forward and cry out Castiel's name in return.

He removed his fingers and then _quickly_ grasped his cock and rested the head on the rim of his Angel's hole. It felt so different to Dean's fingers – it felt so much better – so much more intense. Castiel brought his hips to meet Dean and the hunter finally entered him.

Dean grunted and panted while Cas moaned and mumbled.

_How does this feel so good?_ Thought the Angel. _How is my body reacting this way?_ Of course it hurt. The force tore him apart and thrashed about inside him roughly, almost causing tears to prick his eyes. But it still felt _so good_.

Dean created a steady rhythm, thrusting himself inside Castiel while the Angel let out loud, exasperated shrieks. _God, he makes so much noise_ thought Dean, and he loved it.

As he twisted and rocked his hips, Dean stroked the sides of Castiel's torso and licked long lines up and down his neck and chest, breathing warmly onto the wet surface. His eyes were closed and he relished Cas's embrace, felt every crease and dent in his body with his tongue. Everything was heightened with Castiel's touch. It grounded him and kept him in reality. He wasn't dreaming – this was _really_ happening, he was fucking Castiel and Castiel was fucking him right back.

He could feel it. He was seconds away. The Angel's moans suddenly caught and his loud, constant whimpers abruptly ceased. The pressure of Dean's cock pressing against Castiel's prostate cut off any ability to move or speak.

Dean frantically grabbed Castiel's penis and rubbed it with a firm hold, while continuing to drive his hips up and down, back and forth.

Castiel found himself scratching Dean's back, bringing his hands up every now and then to run his fingers through the hunter's fluffy hair before bringing them back down to scratch at his lower back and grab his firm, perfectly molded ass and pull him deeper inside.

And just like that – it was over. The both of them came with each other's name thick in their moans. Dean's head was limply resting on the Angel's chest and the Angel's head was resting in the dip of Dean's shoulder.

Dean slowly pulled himself out of Castiel, who winced and suddenly felt extremely hollow, like a piece of him was missing. Dean felt much the same. He leant over and grabbed a folded shirt from out his open duffle bag still lying on the bedside table. He scrunched it up in his hands and wiped off the sticky, liquid from his hands and Castiel's stomach. He smiled and locked eyes with the Angel, who was staring up at him, brow furrowed, eyes barely open and mouth parted, still entranced with pleasure and desire.

Dean bent forward, planted a soft, tender kiss on Castiel's and ran his tongue lightly across his bottom lip. When they parted, Dean flopped next to him and let out a long, contented sight.

"Shit," he said and laughed. "Man, we are definitely doing that again."

Castiel twisted his head to look Dean in the eye. He decided he was going to finish his speech, tell him how he felt about the man – how much he loved him, it seemed so perfect. "Dean I -"

Dean stopped him before he could finish. He placed a thumb over the Angel's mouth and smirked. "Fuck, Cas, I know," he said, "Ditto." He placed one more indulgent kiss on Castiel's mouth and moved his hand to run past his thigh.

Castiel smiled, and it was the most heart-wrenching expression Dean had ever seen. The Angel was so happy, so amazed and still in a trance of disbelief that this had actually happened, and it had actually felt so wonderful.

Meanwhile, Sam sat in the impala, awkwardly waiting for a text from his brother to tell him he and Cas had finished with their uncomfortable argument thing. _They should just get over themselves and make out already _he thought, but a part of him knew Dean would never do something like that. _What a shame_.

THE END


End file.
